“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
It was a fool thing to have a girl’s photograph on your wall anyway, he decided. Mechanically he stuffed some tobacco into the bowl of his pipe, but he did not strike a match, and exhausted though he was, he stood looking out of the window towards the east.
The long antennæ of the day were stretching up into the lightening sky. In a few hours the Captain—that irascible, illogical, altogether detestable captain—would be yawning in his bunk and ringing for his coffee, marmalade and—the news. Oh, he 'd want the news, all right, in spite of his jaw that morning,—want it all and growl because there was n’t more! Micky gave a mornful laugh. Well, there was on bit he would n’t get—at least not for some time, —the bit about the murder of the Earl of Roakby and the flight of Cosmo Graeme. Micky had no question about that. It was n’t even debatable. Save a man, and turn him over to be hanged? Not on your life—not even if the murderer was your rival and by so doing you could get rid of him one and for all! No, so far as Graeme and he were concerned the Hon. Evelyn could choose between them and87
